Perfectionist Complex
by North13
Summary: Canada cuts. His thoughts are voiced, and he's still ignored. Inspired by the English cover done by Juby Phonic of the song "Perfectionist Complex." Pairing is (established) NedCan.
1. The first morning until midnight

A normal world meeting was taking place. My brother, America, was acting stupid. What hit me though was his stupid comments to me that I couldn't quite shake after he said them at the start of the meeting, before order was called and he was just talking to me. It hurts still and the meetings almost done. Germany's just taking the last notes down and wrapping everything up.

My boyfriend hadn't even looked my way the entire meeting. Not even a glance, a nod, or a smile to show he cared. I guess what America had said to me was right. 'No one remembers the goody two shoes Canada. No one even cares. It hurts to have to add my boyfriend to the list of people though. I'd thought I could count on him. A month apart, too busy to even talk over the phone together and he doesn't care at all. I missed him during that month. He never once responded to my calls or text messages. Did I do something wrong? No, I have to be perfect. Shoot. My old thoughts were coming back.' I'd thought I'd left them behind. I guess I was wrong. 'Looks like I'm not perfect after all. Can I ever be? I'm hopeless.'

The meeting was finished. I was alone in my hotel room. It became too much. I cut that night. It was the first time in a long while. I was surprised when it hurt to do it again, my last memories of it were of it not hurting. It only distracted me from what was happening. Like music that I could feel. This didn't feel like music. It stung and hurt me. I didn't have my regular supplies there with me. I hadn't expected this to happen. All the stores were closed by the time I cut. I could go after the meeting was done and purchase some bandages. I just hope that the toilet paper I taped to my skin after I was finished washing and pressing on it to hurry up the clotting stays there until the meeting is finished tomorrow. I don't want it to be noticed. I made so many promises to Lars, my papa, Alfred, and Arthur that I wouldn't cut again. They forgot about me right after that though, so would it be alright to 'forget' my own promises. A promise is a promise.

'But, they forgot theirs too. You don't know that. They promised to look out for me. Alfred is the only one that has. My papa and Arthur haven't said a thing to me since Lars told them what I'd been doing six months ago. And Lars, he's even stopped talking to me. I'm pathetic. Relying on their words to me like this, shouldn't I be strong enough to stand on my own? I'm my own country, yet I act so weak. I'm horrible.'

The clock read 11:08 when I stumbled out of the bathroom. I'd cut too deep. Everything felt weird, my head was spinning, and I was too dizzy. I crawled into bed and hoped for sleep. It would help. The clock read 12:47. Then 2:48. Then 3:14. I didn't sleep that night. Not that it would have helped.

* * *

><p>I realize this is horribly short, and kind of sad; but, I have school tomorrow and it's 11:00 at night. I'll put the next part up very soon. Thanks for reading.<p>

Post script: does any one else mess up that captcha code like every single time?


	2. A promise is(n't) a promise

Another day of a meeting I really didn't care for. Nothing ever got done anyway. It was useless.

'Useless things should just go away. Am I useless? No! I'm not supposed to be thinking like this again.'

Lunch break was called, Netherlands sought me out during it.

"Are you okay?" He asked with worry in his eyes, and a slight frown on his face.

"I'm just fine." I said being curt towards him. I think he got the message that I didn't want to be around him. He left, and the meeting was resumed soon after.

It's easy to fake a smile; I'd sent one to my brother when he glanced at me as we were all walking in. He hadn't looked worried though. His expression didn't change after I sent the smile either, so I know it worked.

Netherlands sat beside me when we all got to the table.

"About before," he said, "are you sure?"

"Hm-mm" I hummed my agreement. In my peripheral vision, I can see him give an uncertain nod almost as if he's trying to convince himself that I'm telling the truth. I turned my attention back to the speaker at the front of the room, and ignored how he kept looking at me.

When it was my turn I stood up, went to the front of the room, started to speak, and stuttered. The horror. All those speech therapy lessons wasted. People laughed. I could hear whispers ripple throughout the room. I was humiliated. I finished my presentation, and sat back down.

'I wasn't perfect.'

It was easy enough to fight back the tears the rest of the meeting. I just tried not to blink as much as I could. They didn't slip down past my calming breaths. I was thankful I didn't have to face the humiliation of people, my fellow nation. No less, seeing them glide down my checks. A small thing to be thankful for.

'That could have been avoided if I was better.'

The meeting couldn't have ended fast enough for me, I bolted out of there.

Alone in my room my abhorrence towards the word hate left me.

'I hate myself. I couldn't even speak; such a simple thing and I couldn't do it. I couldn't say what I wanted to say.'

I was lying on my bed by then. That's when I was overcome with the urge. I didn't actually want to die, and I was afraid of getting hurt; but, this wasn't at all like suicide. This was just playing around a bit. I wouldn't actually cut myself, not tonight at least, I would just mimic doing the real thing.

In the bathroom I broke open the razor I'd brought. It might seem really girly, but I like to shave my legs. It always felt so clean, and it wasn't like I could shave my face ever anyways. Stupid England and his stupid spells.

My hands were shaking by the time I'd broken it open. I'd smashed it against the edge of the sink, I was frustrated. I took my shakiness to mean I was desperate for this.

'Depending on something for my happiness. How stupid. But, then again, isn't that what everyone does?'

I grabbed one of the blades inside of the razor, the rest stayed on the sink as I pressed the blade against my wrist.

'I'm just playing.'

I added more pressure, the skin around the blade bowed in. Everything was curving towards its sharpness, my skin encircled it. I added a bit more pressure, not enough to break the skin though. I loved how my skin was going down from the pressure, about to break and spill my blood, and yet it wasn't breaking. I stayed strong.

There was a knock at my hotel room door. "Canada?" That was the Netherlands, Lars' voice. My head snapped up as my make shift knife went down more. A sting coming from my wrist told me what had happened. I wasn't surprised.

'Of course I wasn't strong enough to stand a little pressure.'

I rolled my eyes and stood up from my crouched position by the sink. I gave a cursory glance at my wrist. A small nick in my skin had been formed. I was a little sad that my skin was no longer flawless, as of last night; but, oh well, he'd known it would happen again. Old habits are hard to break. Blood was welling up. Now, that wouldn't do, would it?

Another knock came at the door. My wrist stinged. I wanted nothing more than for Lars to go away. I put down the blade, and left the bathroom to answer the door.

'The nick is small enough that Lars won't notice it, right? I can always just blame it on Kuma getting a bit feisty. I wasn't thinking properly. I hadn't brought Kuma along. The last time I'd seen him had been three days ago. How could he have given me a fresh wound?' I'd think of that when I had to.

I opened the door, and smiled.

"Hello Lars. How can I help you? What is it?" I said.

Lars looked at me, and sighed. "Mathew, is there anything wrong? Are you feeling okay?" He asked. "You looked a little...sad during the meeting."

I smiled again. "Yeah, I'm alright. It was just nervousness, nothing to worry about."

Lars frowned. He was always frowning. Couldn't he have any other expression when he looked at me? "You sure?" He asked.

'Always with the questions.'

"Yep." I answered.

Lars nodded. "Alright then." He was back to mumbling his words. At least he can say them though. "I'll see you later. Have a good night Mathew."

"You too." I said as he turned and walked away. I closed my door softly, then slid down before it into a crouch. The door let out a sound, like a thunk, when I hit it with my head.

"I'm so stupid. I need to be stronger. Get rid of these feelings. How can I do that?" I whispered against its dark brown surface. I was trying to plan out how to be better. As far as I could see it, I had a lot to improve on.

"I'll start tomorrow."


End file.
